


The Moving Affair

by CynthiaK2014



Series: Man from Uncle [2]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 05:12:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3965692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynthiaK2014/pseuds/CynthiaK2014
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to The Ghosts in the Castle Affair</p><p>Mark Slate POV</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Moving In, part 1

Mark Slate carried his suitcases down the basement stairs and into the family room with its pool table, comfortable old sofa and fireplace. Continuing past the bathroom and into the spacious back room, he set them down and looked around with a curious gaze. Double bed with bookcase headboard to his left, an old six drawer oak dresser with a mirror above it on his right and doors which should be a walk in closet straight ahead, all caught his wandering eye.

“Why the hell did I have to move?” He asked the still air. Shaking his head, he opened a suitcase and began to fill the drawers with folded clothes. Thinking back to the summons to Mr. Waverly’s office and the apologetic but firm order to move into the safe house off of 53rd Street. There’d been a twinkle in the faded blue eyes and Mark had simply nodded before taking the day off to pack and move.

He still had boxes to bring in but April had said she’d help at four and it was almost that time now. Taking the empty suitcases, he set them in the back of the closet where he’d hung up his suits. Measuring with his arm, he decided to put the bookcase that doubled as his shoetree in the closet. It would look tidier that way.

“Mark? Are you down there?” A familiar voice echoed from the stairs.

He went out to the bottom of the staircase and looked up into Napoleon’s face. The number one agent was in jeans and a sweatshirt that somewhat shocked Mark. He didn’t think he’d ever seen him dressed in anything but a suit. And relaxed . . . very relaxed with a grin on his face instead of the practiced charming smile.

“We just got here with our rental truck. We’ve got a porter’s dolly if you’ve got boxes to move.”

“Great! April should be here any minute to help.” Mark came up the steps and saw Illya over Napoleon’s shoulder, unloading several boxes onto the bright red, two-wheeled dolly. “You needed an entire truck?”

“Illya has books and bookcases like you wouldn’t believe. And I’ve got furniture that belonged to my parents.”

“And boxes and boxes of clothes. Don’t forget them, Napoleon.” The soft accents drifted up from the sidewalk.

“At least they’re not as heavy as your books, Illya.”

Mark listened to their familiar bickering while they emptied his car of boxes and got them down to his new home. Puzzled, he listened for the new note he thought he heard beneath the joking asides. By the time April got there, they’d moved all the furniture out of the truck and up the stairs to the first and second floors. The only furniture that Illya had was a beautiful stained glass lamp that looked like a Tiffany but probably wasn’t.

It sat nicely on the Chippendale table with the graceful lines of the eighteenth century that sat behind the comfortable stuffed sofa that came with the brownstone. The elaborately framed art from Napoleon’s apartment were stacked against the wall in the living room while the simply framed posters went on up the stairs to Illya’s room on the second floor.

There was a lot of shuffling of furniture to make room for Napoleon’s family antiques. The bedroom suite from his room went up the steep steps to the third floor above Illya’s bedroom at the front. Then the heavy carved oak headboard came up the steps to Napoleon’s back bedroom. Mark was slightly envious of the nice wide queen sized bed. 

Maybe it was time he broke down and bought some furniture, he mused. Except for his stereo, records and clothes, he traveled extremely lightly. Of course, his part of this move had been accomplished in less than an hour while they didn’t finish unloading the truck until almost eight p.m. Once the door to the truck slammed down on empty space, Napoleon ushered them down the street to the little Italian restaurant on the corner.

They ate as if they were starved. The appetizer tray disappeared quickly and the first bottle of red wine led to another with their entrees. Mark watched his friends and fellow agents with an assessing eye. He still couldn’t understand why he’d been moved in with them or why any of them had to be moved at all.

While they waited for dessert, he ventured his query. “Guys, why are we living together?”

Napoleon shrugged elegantly. “Uncle Alex said something about budget cuts. April, has he said anything to you about moving?”

She shook her head, dark hair swirling over her shoulders. “I know that two of the girls in Section Four moved in together yesterday. Lainie and Helen, you remember Helen, don’t you, Napoleon?”

“Blond, curvaceous and lips to die for?” He tilted his head to one side. “I only dated her once. She never stops talking.”

“Well, she is in Communications.” April teased him and Illya chuckled, surprising them both. 

“Frederick Lowell from Section Five – Security moved in with his cousin Peter Baynes.” Illya volunteered.

“I heard a rumor about some FBI agent who’s coming up for an interview. I’ll have to tell Uncle Alex that we have a furnished third bedroom he could rent out.” Napoleon said dryly.

“Well, I can top that one.” April said smugly while curling a fettucine noodle around her fork. “One of my old college friends works for the New York City District Attorney’s office and she got a call from Uncle Alex about possibly coming to work for us.”

“Interesting. There have been no departures as far as I know from the ranks. So why the expansion?” Mark threw in his two cents worth. “Increased activity on THRUSH’s part?”

“Some of the scientists in the propulsion lab are due to retire this year.” Illya offered. “And Garibaldi is always threatening to quit.”

“Good riddance to him. He has to be the most sour man I’ve ever met.” April scowled and stabbed another ravioli. “Maybe there are some promotions coming up.”

Mark caught a quick look between the two men across the table and once again wondered about the undercurrent to the conversation. “You haven’t mentioned what happened in Switzerland, Napoleon? You were supposed to be back ten days ago.”

“We ran into a spot of trouble and had to recuperate.”

“What Napoleon means is that I had a bad reaction to a drug overdose and he had to wait for me to get better.”

“You’re all right now, right?” April placed her left hand on his and surprised a shy smile from the usually reticent agent.

He nodded. “I am fine with no lingering trauma. We rested in an old castle, complete with ghosts. It was most interesting.”

“Ghosts?” Mark asked. “You don’t believe in ghosts, Illya?”

“There was a vast array of different manifestations including auditory and optical illusions that might or might not present evidence of another dimension.”

April burst out into laughter in which Napoleon joined heartily. Mark knew he’d been had by an expert. “Now that sounds more like the kind of explanation I’d expect from you.”

“I shall endeavor to come up to your expectations, Mark.” Illya said with a dead pan expression that didn’t quite hide the twinkle in the bright blue eyes.

They ended the meal with cannoli drizzled with honey before returning to the brownstone to start unpacking. April joined him downstairs and helped him hook up his stereo system. Then while he put a metal bookcase together, she opened the boxes of his extensive music collection and got ready to hand him the records. Teasing him about his penchant for alphabetizing, she nonetheless took the time to keep them in order so he could fill the shelves correctly.

“April, have you noticed anything odd about the other two?” Mark wondered if he was imagining things.

“Goodness, yes. Something happened in Switzerland, I expect. Did you notice how they distracted us with ghost stories? And Illya still looks a little shaky. Normally he’s tough as old boots but did you see how Napoleon made sure that he didn’t lift anything too heavy?” She was bent over his box of tools and assorted hardware.

“I wonder what kind of overdose it was? He does look a little translucent. But then Napoleon has always been a bit of a mother-hen.” Mark shrugged and finished shelving the records, sitting back on his heels.

“Do you want this poster over your bed like it was in your apartment?” April straightened up with a nail in one hand and the hammer in her other.

“Yeah. I think I’ll put the travel posters up in here. It looks a little sterile.” He looked around at the dark paneled walls. “And dark. I wonder if they have any 100 watt bulbs in the kitchen storage closet.”

“Why don’t you go see while I hang this. You’re going to need something brighter in the bathroom too. Of course, you don’t have to worry about putting on your make-up.” She batted her eyelashes at him and sent him upstairs laughing. 

Thank goodness they weren’t attracted to each other Mark thought, crossing the living room back to the kitchen. Opening drawers at random, he found one filled with light bulbs. Pulling out four 100-watt bulbs, he headed back to the stairs only to be stopped by an unfamiliar sound. Detouring to the stairs up, he heard Illya laughing infectiously from his bedroom.

“Are you sure I can’t help you, Pasha? You seem to be having a little trouble with the nail.”

“Just you wait, Illyusha. I’ll show you how much trouble I have ‘nailing’.”

“Promises, promises.” 

Mark froze. He’d never heard that tone of voice before from either of the senior agents. Especially not to each other. A thump then a breathless laugh drifted down from the second floor. Mark wasn’t sure he knew what was happening upstairs but he was going to have to do some hard thinking. Lost in thought, he found himself by the pool table with his hands full of light bulbs and no memory of coming down the stairs.

“Mark . . . Mark, what’s wrong?” April’s hand on his arm startled him.

“Um, nothing.” He didn’t know what to say or whether he could even put it into words.

“Heard something you shouldn’t have?” She smiled and tugged him over to the sofa.

Shocked, he could only stare at her. “How did you know?”

“Oh, Mark.” She pushed him down on the sofa and fiddled with the controls for the gas fireplace, only stepping back when the even flames shot up. Rejoining him, she curled up sideways to him so she could watch him. “Would it make so much difference if you knew they were . . . together?”

He grimaced at the picture that painted in his mind. “I hope I’m not so intolerant as all that but Napoleon is such a womanizer and I always thought Illya had earned his nickname.”

“Napoleon flirts with anything in a skirt, Mark but he’s never been serious. Illya is the only one to whom he is completely and irrevocably committed. I think whatever happened in Switzerland, they both woke up to how they feel about each other.” She held his hand. “It doesn’t mean they’re weaker now. Loving doesn’t mean they’re going to go limp-wristed on us. I think they’re probably stronger now then they’ve ever been.”

Mark thought about that. His main image of homosexuals came from the Soho District and the bars that catered to transvestites, cross dressers and raving queens. With a sigh of relief, he couldn’t see Napoleon or Illya acting that way. So how did he see them now? With a blush, he found himself wondering who was on top.

“I’m confused. My brain tells me that homosexuals are weak and petty minded men who can’t control themselves.”

“Wow, that’s a pretty negative picture. What do you think about Professor Grim in Weapons?” She asked him.

“What about him?”

“He lives with his ‘cousin’, Vance. They’ve been together for 26 years. They had a small party on their twenty-fifth anniversary. Mr. Waverly and I went and had a great time.”

Mark felt as if his world had turned upside down. Bill Grim was a first rate shooter who had come up with some refinements that made their weapons even more dangerous. He was big and masculine with an air of no-nonsense practicality. Mark thought that he was as tolerant as they came but he didn’t seem to be reacting to this situation very well. Taking a deep breath, he tried to get back to basics.

Napoleon and Illya were competent men who were given the tough assignments because they could handle them. As senior agents, they were often sent into impossible situations but they’d always come through for UNCLE. The fact that they were . . . damn, he couldn’t even think about the physical part.

“I think I can accept it if I don’t think about . . . um . . . you know.” Mark stammered.

April grinned mischievously. “That’s the part I find so yummy. I’d love to be a mouse in the corner and watch them. They’re so sweet together.”

Mark looked at her in shock. “Two men making love turns you on?”

“Well, sure. Don’t tell me that the thought of two beautiful women making love doesn’t turn you on.” 

A flush crept up his neck all the way to the tips of his ears. He’d been part of a threesome in his college days and watching the two of them keep making love while he was recovering had been hotter than hot. “Okay, yeah, I have to admit that’s a turn on. But I can’t see two guys.”

“Then we’re going to have to agree to disagree on it then. Are you going to be so uncomfortable here that you’ll have to move? Or can you live and let live?” She looked sympathetically at him.

“I think I’ll have to think about it for awhile. See how it goes. Maybe stay out of their way.” Mark sighed and let his head fall back onto the sofa back.

“Well, you may not have to worry about it for awhile. I got a call asking us to come in tomorrow morning for a new assignment.” April grinned at him before getting up. “Walk me home and stretch those long legs of yours. We’ll only be a few blocks away from each other now.”

“Ten blocks is more than a few.” Mark protested weakly but allowed her to pull him up. “Let me get my jacket.”

They headed up the stairs and April called her goodbyes to the others. Napoleon came down and kissed her cheek. “Thanks for all your hard work, April. We appreciate it.”

“How is Illya really?” She asked him quietly.

“Better. The doctors are still going over the combination of drugs that he was injected with.” The grim note in his voice and the clenching of his jaw gave away his feelings. “It was a devil’s brew that brought up years of old trauma.”

“It’s a good thing you were there to protect him.” She kissed his cheek.

“For once . . . he let me.” Napoleon’s smile was slight but genuine. “Thanks again. Do you need a ride home?”

“Nope, I’m going to walk her home to stretch my legs.” Mark said as naturally as he could.

“Fine. We’re going to turn in early. It’s been a busy day. See you at headquarters tomorrow.” Napoleon smiled at them both and headed back upstairs.

Locking the door behind them, Mark took April’s arm for a brisk walk down the block. “Okay, I see what you mean. I always thought of Napoleon as essentially cold hearted with a good brain but without a kind bone in his body. But he’s not.”

She tucked her hand into his elbow and smiled affectionately up at him. “You’re getting there, my friend. Just take it one day at a time. I expect they’re going to be as discrete as can be.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Hah! I’m always right. You should know that by now.” She teased him.

He laughed out loud and they continued into the night, sharing their friendship and the banter that characterized their relationship. Mark decided that for now, he’d take what came and mind his own business. That should prove interesting enough to keep him busy for some time to come.


	2. Moving In, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making love in their new home.

Illya leaned his head tiredly against the back of the old claw foot bathtub. While it wasn’t as big as the one in the B&B, it was still much nicer than the one in his former apartment. It felt so good to finally stop moving. He hoped that the others hadn’t noticed that he wasn’t pulling his own weight. He knew that Napoleon’s eagle eye had spotted his slowness and the one grimace he’d made when he bumped into the handrail after he almost slipped with the heavy bed frame.

“I don’t suppose that it’s big enough for both of us.” Napoleon’s voice came from the doorway.

“Is April gone?” Illya slowly turned his head to meet the heated gaze. “I think two would fit if they were very friendly.”

“Mark is walking her home and I told them that we were turning in.” Shutting the door behind him, he peeled off his sweatshirt. “I can be very friendly.”

“I wonder how the acoustics are here. Put another towel on the counter.” Illya watch in fascination at the still amazing sight of Napoleon’s skin being revealed inch by inch.

“I think perhaps Mark heard something earlier. He couldn’t meet my eyes when I went down to say thank you.” Napoleon finished removing his socks and reached for a second towel to lay on top of Illya’s.

“Do you think there will be a problem?” Illya asked hesitantly. It was too soon to have to worry about being ‘outed’; he had heard it called.

“Probably not. April is on our side and I expect she’ll work on him.” He stepped in between his legs and slowly sank backwards into the hot water, coming to rest with his back against Illya’s chest.

Illya kissed the ear closest to him and ran the wash cloth over the almost hairless chest. “How do you know that April knows and is all right with us?”

Napoleon turned his head on Illya’s shoulder just far enough to reach his lips. They kissed tenderly, enjoying the spices of their earlier meal. When they separated, Illya tried to find the soap but found it bobbing just out of reach. Napoleon obligingly caught it for him and handed it back before answering.

“She winked at me just before they left. If I know her, she probably knew before we did. She’s a good friend.” He wiggled just a little when Illya soaped his groin.

“Why look, something is growing in our bathtub.” Illya said smilingly. “Hm-m, it looks like it needs deflating.”

“Deflating!” Napoleon surged around and ended up nose to nose with him. “I’ll have you know that he’s quite happy the way he is. Oh look, something’s come up.”

Illya chortled happily while they washed each other haphazardly; both of them kneeling up to reach all available skin. Rinsing off, Napoleon pulled the drain plug and stepped out onto the bath mat. Illya stayed where he was, watching with bated breath the graceful movements of his partner.

“Come out, Illyusha. You’ll get all wrinkled like a prune.” Napoleon held out his hand and Illya let him help him out. “Damn, that’s a nasty bruise above your hip. Was it the railing?”

“Probably, Pasha. Perhaps you would like to rub it with Tiger’s Balm?” Illya wrapped the yellow towel around his hips and hung up the wrung out wash cloth. He hated to leave the bathroom untidy.

“How about a massage all over?” Napoleon pulled off Illya’s towel and hung it up neatly by his. “Which bed are we sleeping in tonight?”

“We slept in mine last night but this one is my new bed so we should christen it, yes?” Illya strolled out and down the hall to his new door. Skirting the boxes of still unopened books, he pulled back the cover and slid into bed. He knew that Napoleon would quickly join him since they had not been apart for even a night since the village outside of Lucerne.

Warm skin slid next to him and he turned into Napoleon’s arms. That still had the power to amaze him and he searched the brown eyes for a clue as to why he was being so very loving. Which Napoleon gave him, “Because you deserve to be loved and I love you with all my heart?"

Illya sighed and closed his eyes for the kiss that he knew was waiting for him. Sliding one arm over Napoleon’s hip, he stroked the satin skin at the base of his spine and enjoyed the arch of his body. He still hadn’t explored every square inch of his partner but that would come with time and he was beginning to think that they would have the time they needed.

When Napoleon broke away and reached for the massage oil he’d brought with him from the bathroom, Illya moved the pillow to the floor so he could lay on his stomach. At the first touch of the oil warmed by gentle friction, he sighed and relaxed all over. Napoleon straddled his narrow hips and started with his shoulders.

“Pasha, do you think that Mr. Waverly knows about us?”

“Perhaps, Illya. If he does, he approves and if he doesn’t, he still managed to put us right where we wanted to be. I like living under one roof with you. Your shoulders are in knots.” 

“That feels so very good, my friend.” Illya arched up just a bit and wiggled his hips in enjoyment.

“Hedonist.”

“Decadent American.”

“Tease.”

“I never tease, Napasha. Everything I have is yours. Any part of me you want, you need only ask.” Illya sighed as the strong hands moved further down his back. Napoleon slid back a little further and Illya felt his cock begin to stir at the strokes over his lower back that slid over his buttocks.

“I want all of you, Illyusha. And I need to give you all of me. Soon, love.” Gentle hands smoothed over his downy cheeks and a single finger traced his cleft, leaving behind the warm oil to trickle a drop or two inside of him.

He tried not to tense but the memories of the last time rose up to tear away his composure. Napoleon’s breath was warm on the backs of his thighs. “Nothing you don’t want, Illya. Never anything that would hurt you.”

“Oh, Pasha, I wish to not be frightened or to flinch from you. I know you could never hurt me.” His voice shook and he wished with all his heart that he had come to terms with his rape many years before.

“Love, turn over.” His hands moved him around so he could look up. “How very beautiful you are, Illya. Sometimes I can’t believe that you want me in your bed.”

“Always, Pasha, I always want you in all parts of my life. Make the bad memories go away and replace them with good ones.” Illya slid his hands up the long arms that rested at his waist, tugging him down so they could kiss again. He never tired of kissing Napoleon because each one was special and different.

And this one was delicious. Some of the honey from the cannoli lingered on Napoleon’s lips and Illya licked at them to make sure he got it all. The whimper that resounded by his ear made him smile and redouble his efforts. Their tongues tangled together and stroked skin to skin. Hands moved slowly over flesh suddenly sensitive.

“Illya, I need to finish your massage. Oh yes.” Napoleon tilted his head and sighed at the soft caress to his throat. “I don’t want you to be in pain.”

Lifting his hips a fraction to encourage the matching of their groins, Illya thrust gently. He sucked lightly at the base of Napoleon’s throat and felt him shiver. His hands slid down the long muscles to the base of his partner’s spine and the reaction was all he could have asked for.

Napoleon rolled them again so that Illya lay on top of him, moving his legs to each side so he cradled his partner’s body and matched them groin to groin. “Now, I can finish your massage.”

Illya laughed as strong hands kneaded his lower back. “You have a one track mind, Pasha. Oh, there.” He wriggled in ecstasy and felt both their cocks harden a little further. Moving his lips lower, he traced Napoleon’s collarbone and followed with a wet tongue. The salty flesh was addicting and he settled in to indulge himself. 

Remembering what Napoleon had told him the week before, he ventured a gentle suckle of the left nipple. The reaction was satisfactory so he nibbled a bit and listened with satisfaction to the muffled moan. He was so intent on his suckling that he almost missed the tantalizing caress of a finger down his crease. But the nerve endings there enjoyed the stimulation and he thought for a moment before relaxing completely and letting Napoleon do as he wished.

A slick finger rubbed against the nerve rich area and Illya shivered before moving back up to claim Napoleon’s mouth. This kiss was a little more urgent and an oily hand slid around their hips between them to oil both cocks. They began thrusting against each other more quickly, sliding together in gathering friction. Illya felt his breath go short and he began to pant.

“That’s it, my Illyusha. Feel how much you turn me on. Just touching you, tasting you and hearing those little moans makes me harder than I’ve ever been.” He encouraged Illya to bear down while he thrust up. 

“Pasha!” Illya let go the last of his controls and began to pulse out onto Napoleon’s stomach.

“Yes!” Napoleon moaned and joined him. “So good, so very, very good.”

Illya tucked his head into the curve of Napoleon’s shoulder and throat. “It’s never been this good, Pasha. Never, ever felt like this.”

“It’s your doing, Illyusha. No one is as sexy as you.” Napoleon kissed the ear closest to him.

“You are the expert, Napasha. But I never found this feeling of . . . freedom before when I tried to fumble my way through an affair. It was easier to just not even try.” Illya sighed and wondered if he should get up to get a washcloth to clean them up.

“It’s very selfish of me, Illya but I’m rather glad about that.” Napoleon chuckled and rolled them over so they were face to face but now on their sides. “It means that you won’t be too critical of my lovemaking.”

Illya smiled at the relaxed face on the pillow facing him. “I can not be critical of someone who gives me so much pleasure. So long as I am enough for you. You must tell me if I am too slow.”

“Never too slow, love. We have a smorgasbord of pleasure in front of us and we’re going to savor every morsel.” He smoothed the bangs from Illya’s forehead. “I love you more each day.”

“I love you, too, Napasha. I promise to enjoy everything we do.” Illya nodded and smiled sleepily at his lover.

“Rest, love. I’ll get something to clean us up.” Napoleon rolled away and got to his feet, heading for the bathroom. “I’ll be right back.”

Illya lay there and dragged a finger through the wetness on his stomach. Bringing it to his lips, he tasted the combination of his and Napoleon’s seed. Salty and slightly bitter, he thought he might become addicted to the flavor.

“That is the most erotic thing I have ever seen.” Napoleon’s voice from the doorway brought Illya’s gaze to him, his finger still in his mouth.

He smiled and pulled out his finger with a ‘pop’. “I think I’m looking at the most erotic man I’ve ever seen.”

“Not hardly, Illya.” Napoleon knelt on the bed and cleaned his stomach. “I think we’ll have to just agree that we find each other irresistible. And that is God’s honest truth.”

“Yes, Pasha. Completely irresistible.” Illya hid a yawn beneath his hand. “I’m sorry to be sleepy so early.”

Napoleon slid in beside him and pulled the covers up around their chins. “I am too, love. So go to sleep and dream of me because I’ll be dreaming of you.”

“Good night, Napoleon. I think I shall like living with you.” Illya nestled in.

“Me too, Illya.” Napoleon settled his arm over Illya’s stomach, giving him the comforting feeling of being anchored.

********************* 

The next morning, Illya found himself cooking breakfast for both Napoleon and Mark. The blond agent had tried to tell him that he never ate breakfast but Illya was able to point to a mission in London where he’d eaten heartily every morning. So, he’d put him to work juicing the fresh oranges they’d brought with them from Illya’s apartment.

When Napoleon came down, impeccably dressed in the brown silk suit that Illya loved, he was set to watching the toaster while Illya finished the scrambled eggs. When they all sat down at the breakfast table, he watched from the corner of his eye while Mark raised his forkful of eggs and began to chew.

“Wow, what’s in these? They taste great.” He said around his mouthful.

“I crumble feta cheese, a teaspoon of dill and finely minced onion in about three minutes before the eggs are done. No salt though, Napoleon’s blood pressure is high enough as it is.” Illya smiled and finished spreading the raspberry preserves on his whole-wheat toast.

“Well, they’re just right. Feta is salty enough that you wouldn’t need more.” Mark happily dug in to the rest of his eggs.

“You see, Napoleon, Mark agrees with me.” Illya teased his partner.

“I gave in, didn’t I? But I’m not giving up butter and salt on my popcorn.” He pouted so delightfully that Illya was hard pressed to keep his expression neutral.

Mark was surprised into a laugh that almost sprayed his eggs across the table. “You guys should have your own comedy act. Thanks, Illya, I promise I won’t try to skip breakfast again.”

“It is the most important meal of the day, Mark. At least that is what my Grandmother used to say.” Illya spoke of his family with trepidation, wondering what Mark would make of it.

“Yeah, I have to admit that my Grandmama said exactly the same thing. She had a way with a wooden spoon applied to the seat of my pants that reinforced it, too.” Mark grimaced comically and surprised Illya into a chuckle.

“My Nana was the same way. It must be a grandmother thing.” Napoleon said with a pleased smile.

Illya hoped the peace at their breakfast table would spill out into the rest of their living together. And perhaps even the rest of personnel at UNCLE headquarters would respond with kindness to the side of himself that he’d hidden for so long. He could only hope that no one found out about he and his partner’s changed status. It seemed he was wishing for an awful lot lately.

But watching Napoleon’s expressive face while he and Mark debated the use of cinnamon in pancakes, he felt the joy that had been his since Switzerland. This special man had given him so much that he was truly blessed. If showing a part of himself that he’d kept private would smooth their path then he would do so. Not too much of course, that might prove too shocking to their co-workers.

He smiled while they put their dishes in the dishwasher, still arguing about maple syrup versus strawberry jam. He could see that pancakes were in their near future. They carefully locked the front door and split up. Napoleon and he had to return the rental truck while Mark said he had a mission briefing at nine. 

They were on their way before Napoleon noticed his smile. “You look like you swallowed a tickle bug, as my Nana would say.”

Illya laughed out loud. “That is exactly what it feels like, Pasha. I feel like there is laughter inside of me that wants to come out. Do you think it will shock the people in my lab?”

“Yep, and I wish I could be there to see it. But Mr. Waverly has me down for some kind of conference on new personnel. Change is in the air, my friend. Why should we be any different?”

“Perhaps all wishes are coming true, Napasha.” Illya said wistfully.

“Ours did. And I thank God every day for you.” Napoleon’s hand reached over to hold his.

“Me too, Pasha.” Illya squeezed back. “Me too.”


	3. Moving In, part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That drug cocktail may not be entirely gone, Illya discovers.

Illya sighed soundlessly as Professor Williams droned on and on. His work on photo-voltaic cells was groundbreaking and well worth the time spent on experiments. If only he didn’t have to tell them every little detail that had led up to this week’s break through in energy storage. He tried to pay attention but his thoughts kept drifting to the coming night.

Mark and April had an assignment to Portugal and wouldn’t be back for a week. If all went as planned, which Illya knew rarely happened. He smiled to himself at the easing of tension between Mark and the two of them. Food was a great bringer-together of people, no matter who was involved. He wondered if there was a cookbook that had different kinds of pancakes. Perhaps Napoleon could be persuaded to stop by the Library on their way home.

Home. How strange that after so many years of moving from place to place, he’d finally found a home. Of course, the old bromide held true – ‘home is where the heart is’ and his heart had been given to Napoleon years before. To know that his partner felt the same way seemed a miracle past understanding.

“In conclusion, I’d like to show some slides detailing our process.” Professor Williams began to move towards the other table where the slide projector sat ominously by a stack of four round carousel full of white and black squares of film.

“I’m afraid that we’ve run over time, Professor. We shall have to postpone seeing your slides until a later date.” Mr. Waverly said kindly and Illya felt the sigh of relief race around the room like lightning. He even engaged the disappointed scientist in conversation so the rest of them could make their escape.

Leaving the meeting room at a brisk step, Illya took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Another two steps and he saw Napoleon leaning against the wall, his arms folded and his gaze on the people leaving the meeting. Their eyes met briefly before sliding on past. Illya was afraid he’d give them away and kept his normal stoic expression on his face. But inside, he was wriggling in a warm fizzy state that threatened to overcome even his well-practiced poker face.

“Is Mr. Waverly still inside?” Napoleon’s voice was neutral.

“Yes, he saved us from the dreaded slide show catastrophe and covered our escape.” Illya kept walking and when Napoleon fell in beside him, he wished they could touch.

“Ah, the perils of being the boss.” Napoleon said teasingly. 

Waiting until no one was in earshot, Illya dropped his voice. “Can we stop at the Library on our way home?”

“Of course, what are we looking for?”

“Cookbooks about pancakes.”

Napoleon began to chuckle. “I should have known. So, we’re going to be prepared when Mark gets back?”

“You know how important I find research.”

“Yes, I know how thorough you are.” Napoleon said with a hint of caress to his tones. “So dedicated to knowing every aspect of your subject.”

“Napoleon!” The sultry call made Illya cringe inside. It was Mary Lou Kapote, one of the administrative assistants in Section Five, Communications. “You darling man, I hope you haven’t forgotten our date on Saturday.”

Illya kept walking with a bow of his head to her. Heading for his lab to check his messages, he thought gloomily that it had already begun. Sharing Napoleon was something he’d known he’d have to do to keep their cover. Mary Lou was not a threat to him but she would not long be the only woman that Napoleon would have to date to keep up his image. That he might come in time to want to wine and dine.

The secretary who kept track of all messages for Green Lab handed him three slips of paper with varying degrees of importance. Illya could not concentrate on them though so he laid them aside and prepared to walk home. Even if Napoleon couldn’t get away, he could still walk by the branch library that perched on a small lot between two towering office buildings. Shrugging into his coat, he wound the scarf around his neck and thought back to the last Christmas when Napoleon had presented him with the soft, navy blue angora scarf.

It made him feel safe and warmed him from the inside out. After all, he argued to himself, he knew that coming back to cold reality would be a shock. It could be worse and Illya sighed again at the thought of some of the beautiful, intelligent women who worked for UNCLE. They all wanted Napoleon and he would probably feel honor bound to date some of them.

Illya’s eyes narrowed against the sudden pain of a headache. And sooner or later, his partner would find a woman who fit him better than Illya did. He would marry and have beautiful children for his Nana Rebecca, who was still living in Maine in the house she’d come to as a bride back in the twenties. Rubbing his temple, he wondered at the sudden heat that flushed down his face past his neck. His ears were literally burning, he thought hazily.

In the hall, he rested for a minute while he watched the walls pulse in front of his eyes. He’d had a migraine before and this felt like it but there were odd symptoms that he’d never experienced before. He wondered if he should go down to the clinic and have Dr. Keyes check his blood pressure but the ringing in his ears seemed to be lessening and he hated having doctors poking at him so he decided to take it slow and keep on going home.

Home. An empty place without Napoleon but he’d soon be there after he’d finished being charming. Their affair was too new to have lost its bloom and Illya was still a curiosity for his partner. He shook himself free of the melancholy that threatened to take hold, taking a firm grip on his control and walking normally to the first checkpoint to turn in his badge.

Exiting Del Florio’s, he strode down the busy street towards the library and the safe haven he’d discovered when he first came to America. It was still a delight for him to walk in the front door and see all the tall bookcases stretching back as far as the eye could see. The fabric of the building might be shabby and some of the patrons definitely were, but the accumulated knowledge those shelves held never ceased to amaze him.

And they were all free for the checking out to anyone with a library card. He’d been more excited with getting that card than he’d been with passing his driver’s test and receiving his license. Nodding to the librarian behind the reference desk, he headed for the aisle with the cookbooks. Browsing through the crowded stacks, he found several in a row on muffins, biscuits, pancakes and various breakfast dishes. Crepes and how to make them seemed his best bet so he chose three before heading to the mysteries in the fiction section.

Looking through the new mysteries, he found one by one of his favorite authors, Lindsey Davis. Her novels were set in ancient Rome and starred Marcus Didius Falco, Imperial Spy. They were one of his guilty pleasures and he added it to his stack with a tiny thrill. He rather enjoyed escaping into another time and place. Perhaps that’s why the ghosts in Switzerland had captured his attention so completely.

While he waited in line at the check out desk, he wondered if the earlier headache that had started to throb again might be a side effect of the drug overdose. Perhaps he would stop by and talk with Dr. Keyes in the morning. Smiling quietly at the young woman at the desk when it came his turn, he handed over his library card and his four books, receiving them back with their official date stamp.

For two weeks they were his to read and enjoy and it was all free. Illya marveled at the concept of a place where everything was free but the copy machine and the coin operated typewriters. Not even in Great Britain was that the case. Walking down the sidewalk, he pondered the concept of freedom versus privilege. He felt again the honor of living in America and how exhilarating he found the ability to walk wherever he wanted at any time of the day or night.

Subject to wondering THRUSH agents, power-mad dictators and the occasional lady-of-the-evening, of course.

Walking up the steps of his new home, he smiled at the lion headed doorknocker before inserting his key and stepping into the warm foyer. There was a hall tree near the door and he carefully hung up his coat and scarf, noting the empty pegs where Napoleon’s coat should be.

“I will not feel sorry for myself. I will make a nice salad, turn on the gas fire and sit by it to read my books.” He told his image in the hall mirror before carrying his books down the hall and into the kitchen.

The refrigerator was adequately stocked but nothing looked appealing to him. Cutting several slices of colby cheese from the large block, he searched the cupboards for some of his favorite crackers before finding them in the colorful tin behind several sacks of flour and sugar. Musing on the need to keep them safe from any marauding mice, he pondered a shopping trip to the nearest Conran’s store on 5th Avenue.

That was another guilty pleasure of his. Wandering the spacious aisles of brightly colored plastic items of every kind appealed to his sense of the fantastic. But sometimes they stocked just the right kind of storage jar or pottery and his glass cups with the bright red handles had come from there. They weren’t exactly like home but he thought his mother would approve of his choice.

Opening the freezer for some ice for his juice, he stood in front of it for a long moment, realizing for the first time that he felt hot all over. “I don’t have a fever. I refuse to have another fever.” He told the ice cube trays.

Ignoring the throbbing behind his eyes and the way his ears burned, he took his plate of cheese and crackers in one hand, his juice in the other and his mystery under one arm for the trip to the living room. He put everything down on the coffee table and knelt to turn on the gas jet for the fake logs. It wasn’t as nice as a real fire but the convenience was well worth not having to lug dirty logs in and out of the house.

He usually liked the quiet but it was too silent for him right now and he spied the radio on the table beside his stained glass lamp. Turning them both on, he kicked off his shoes and relaxed to the strains of a Strauss waltz. The juice went down like nectar and cooled him off enough so he could enjoy his cheese and crackers. Curling up at one end of the overstuffed couch, he picked up his mystery and opened it to the first page.

An hour later, he stretched and carefully bookmarked his page. Looking at the clock on the mantel, he accepted that Napoleon wouldn’t be coming home anytime soon. He must have taken Mary Lou to dinner and they would probably go dancing or something. Resolutely, he picked up his dirty dishes and took them out to the kitchen, rinsing them under the hot water before stacking them in the drainer.

Leaving his book on the sofa, he wondered upstairs to get ready for bed. For some reason, he felt so sleepy that he could barely keep his eyes open. Deciding against a bath, he washed his face and brushed his teeth mechanically. Dizziness hit when he leaned over to spit out the toothpaste and only his hold on the counter kept him upright. The ringing in his ears was back and when he straightened, the flushed face in the mirror told him the fever was back with a vengeance. 

One of the drawers produced some aspirin and he swallowed two tablets with water that tasted metallic. Licking his lips, he decided to just go to bed to sleep whatever this problem was out of his system. Filling the glass with water, he carried it back to his bedroom and the empty bed that awaited him. Stripping off his clothes, he threw them in the hamper before pulling open one of his dresser drawers and finding the t-shirt that used to belong to Napoleon.

The sheets still smelled of their lovemaking and he hugged Napoleon’s pillow to his chest. Any tears that fell would dry quickly, he reasoned. The cold linen made him shiver and he shook with sudden chills that racked his body with tremors. He curled up tight around the pillow and shook until sleep took him.

********************* 

“Illya . . . Illya wake up.” 

The voice sounded urgent and he fought to open his eyes. His eyelids weighed a ton though and his limbs were too heavy to move. He must have made some sound because the hands shaking him gentled, pulling him upright and propping him against a solid shoulder.

“Nap . . . asha.” His voice slurred and sounded very far away.

“Illya, you’re running a temperature again. How long has it been? How long have you felt hot?” Napoleon rubbed his back soothingly.

“Walk . . . home.” Illya just wanted to go back to sleep. Even if the dreams had been ominous.

“It’s ten now. Did you take your temp?”

“Aspirin, took two aspirin.” Illya managed to get his eyes open in time to see Napoleon’s worried face. “Just hot, Pasha. Nothing bad.”  
“Maybe so, Illyusha but I’m calling Dr. Keyes anyway. You left your communicator clipped to your lab coat again. I tried to call and let you know that Mr. Waverly co-opted me for a mission debriefing but when you didn’t answer, I had Security check for me.”

The only thing that got through to Illya was the name Waverly. “Not Mary Lou?”

“Of course not Mary Lou, I’d never miss a chance to have dinner with you unless duty called.”

“That’s nice, Pasha.” Illya smiled sweetly at his partner before closing his eyes again and resting his too heavy head on the convenient shoulder. “I love you, too. I got some nice cookbooks at the library.”

The familiar chirp of an activated communicator came through the gathering fog. Napoleon’s voice was tightly controlled and Illya listened to his tones with a growing sense of worry. He sounded upset about something and maybe he should do something to try to help. But strong hands held him close and it was too comfortable to exert himself.

He was just too tired and when he opened his eyes, the walls pulsed in and out in a hypnotic rhythm that made him sick to his stomach. Better if he stayed quiet and small so the walls couldn’t reach out to get him. The conversation ended and Napoleon’s hands laid him back down.

“No, Pasha. Dizzy.” He clutched at the strong arms and they held on, helping him to stop spinning.

“The doctor will be here in a few minutes, Illya. I won’t leave you until I have to go down to let him in, I promise. Stay quiet and still for me so the dizziness doesn’t come back.” Napoleon’s voice was soft and low, gentling him into compliance.

“I’m sorry, Pasha. I keep causing you trouble. It’s probably just a chill or something.” Illya opened his eyes slowly and kept them on his partner’s face so he wouldn’t have to look at the weird walls.

“Or a side effect of that devil’s brew they shot you up with.” Napoleon said grimly while he rubbed gentle circles at Illya’s aching temples. “I should have insisted that they hook the phones up before we moved in. Then I could have called you earlier.”

“I’ll be all right, Pasha. I mean, Napoleon.” Illya knew he’d need to put some distance between them so Dr. Keyes wouldn’t know anything had changed between them.

“I trust Bill Keyes, Illya. If he needs to know then I think he will be safe.”

“Are you sure, Napoleon? We are still very new.” Illya blinked rapidly to keep the fever-induced tears from falling.

“I am very sure, my dear partner.” The feel of those soft lips against his threatened to make Illya dizzy again. “And I love you, too.”

Illya gave up completely and basked in the warm presence of his partner. It seemed he did not yet have to share him with the feminine hordes. He smiled through their kiss and lay quietly when Napoleon left him to go answer the door. Perhaps he’d been too quick to think his lover might have already tired of him. It was probably just the fever making him silly.

Idly, he wondered what mission had needed debriefing. Then the rangy figure of Bill Keyes entered his bedroom carrying his doctor’s bag and he prepared to be poked and prodded. Sighing, he opened his mouth to accept the thermometer and brought out an arm so the doctor could feel his pulse.

He hated being sick, but the sight of a worried Napoleon hovering over Dr. Keyes’ shoulder made him docile. He silently submitted to the tests that the doctor ran him through, answered his questions and told him exactly what he’d felt like since that afternoon.

The doctor took a blood sample out of one arm before giving him a shot in the other. Illya felt like a human pincushion and he could feel himself glowering at the man he usually liked.

“It’s probably just a side effect of the earlier problem but to be on the safe side, I’m taking you off duty for a couple of days. I want you to stay in bed and drink as much as possible. That shot should put you out for the rest of the night.” Bill Keyes shut his bag and stood up. “Napoleon, you have the lion tamer’s job of making sure that he stays in bed and rests for the next forty-eight hours.”

“You see, Napoleon, even he thinks I was a cat in another life.” Illya said sleepily and wondered why they laughed. Their voices retreated out of his room and down the stairs while he lay floating a few inches off the bed. Whatever this drug was, he was certainly enjoying the effects.

Then Napoleon was back and helping him out of the sweat-soaked bed and into his room. Stripping him of the t-shirt, bathing him with a cool washcloth and tucking him into his side of the big bed that smelled of his lover, he turned the lights low and kissed him goodnight just before Illya fell deep asleep.


	4. Moving In, part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mark returns from Portugal after a bad mission. Mark POV

Mark Slate heaved a sigh of relief and gave the cabby his new address. He’d almost forgotten what it was but April had reminded him right before she flitted off with Angela Heinz from Communications for a girl’s night out. Finally, he could relax and think with longing of his bed. He was too tired to eat or even have the taxi stop so he could pick up some take-out.

After the mission from Hell, all he wanted was peace and quiet. Maybe some jazz on the stereo and the longest hot shower in recorded American history. He chuckled quietly and closed his eyes against the bright red light of sunset. The cab jerked to a stop and his eyes flew open to see the stoop of his new home.

Paying off the cab driver, he picked up his suitcase and juggled his keys until he found the right one. Unlocking the heavy oak door, he set his suitcase at the top of the stairs to the basement, hung up his coat and crossed the hall to get some juice from the kitchen. The heavy carpet in the hall deadened his footsteps and the soft glow of a lamp slowed his pace unconsciously.

In the living room, Napoleon, dressed casually in a russet sweater and jeans was seated on the sofa, his feet up on the coffee table in front of him. But it was the reclining body of his partner that caught Mark’s attention. The twin glows of lamp and fire had turned Illya’s hair to molten gold where it lay in Napoleon’s lap. The royal blue jogging suit he was wearing looked soft and comfortable. His eyes were closed and Napoleon’s right hand rested on his chest. In his other hand, he held an old book and Mark could hear his voice rise and fall quietly.

“When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,  
I all alone beweep my outcast state,  
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,  
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,  
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,  
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,  
Desiring this man’s art, and that man’s scope,  
With what I most enjoy contented least;  
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,  
Happily I think on thee, and then my state,  
Like to the lark at break of day arising  
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate;  
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings  
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.” ***

The rich voice slowed and caressed the last two lines while Mark wondered if he could tiptoe back out of the doorway before they noticed him. But a pair of bright blue eyes had opened and a delighted smile lit up Illya’s face.

“Mark, you’re home. Come in and sit. We didn’t expect you until later.”

“Yes, please come in and relax. Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes.” Napoleon’s smile was welcoming and Mark hesitantly came on into the room to sit in the overstuffed chair across from them.

“I think I may be too tired to eat.” He said wearily, a little envious of their relaxed state and if he’d just admit it to himself, their tenderness towards each other.

“It’s a nourishing stew that won’t tax your chewing abilities but will give you the energy to take a shower and go to bed.” Napoleon set the book down and cradled Illya’s head. “I’m going to get up so brace yourself.”

The look of concentration on the blond agent’s face puzzled Mark. He gripped the seat cushion on either side of his body, grimacing at Napoleon’s slide out from under him and sighing when he put a pillow beneath his head to replace his lap, Mark looked a question at the older agent.

Napoleon’s gaze was grim. “The day you left, Illya had a relapse and the blood work finally showed up the nasty little virus that was attacking certain areas of his brain. His balance is affected so between the fever that comes and goes and the dizziness that tilts him whenever he moves too suddenly, he hasn’t been out of the house all week.”

“It’s been a little disorienting.” Illya said with his well-known understatement. “But Napoleon has taken good care of me and Dr. Keyes says that another week or so of the antibiotic should see the worst effects go away.”

“Talk to him, Mark, while I go see if dinner is ready.” Napoleon tilted his head towards the prone blond and grimaced at Mark in a not too subtle attempt at telling him something.

Mark decided that after a week of being shut up in the house, Illya was probably a little stir crazy. “Well, I bet you caught up on your reading. You always seem to have more than one book going at any one moment.”

“Unfortunately, my eyes were affected. The blurring vision made me sick to my stomach so reading was out. American television during the day truly is a ‘wasteland’ so my options were limited.” Illya sighed then brightened. “But Napoleon went to the library and brought home all kinds of books on tape that I was able to put into the cassette player and listen to. It was almost as good as reading it for myself.”

“That’s terrible, Illya. The blurred vision will go away though, right?” Mark couldn’t imagine not being able to use his eyes.

“I have my fingers crossed as you Americans say.” Illya’s accent always seemed more prominent when he was using an English idiom. “I must admit I miss my books. But Napoleon reads aloud to me each night and I find our discussions of the poetry or fiction stimulating.”

Mark had a sudden image of Napoleon reading poetry with one hand while stimulating Illya’s cock with the other. To his surprise, he found the image tender rather than off-putting. Maybe he really could ‘live and let live’. He closed his eyes wearily, especially if they fed him when he was too tired to move. It had been a mistake to sit in the comfortable chair because now he didn’t know if he could get out again.

“The mission did not go as planned.” Illya’s voice was gentle and not quite a question. 

“It was a cock-up from the word go.” Mark found himself reciting every mistake made on both sides in a droning voice that seemed divorced from him. He felt so detached that he could even talk about the Greek tour guide who’d gotten in the way of one of THRUSH’s bullets. He’d had no chance to mourn Melena’s death and he wondered if he would ever be able to unfreeze those emotions.

Warm hands on his brought his eyes open to find Illya kneeling at his feet. “Don’t keep them inside, Mark. Don’t do what I did. Let yourself thaw out now. Tell me what you felt when you first met her.”

“Melena. She had the darkest hair I’ve ever seen like a black cloud of ebony but when she smiled . . . she radiated sunshine. Her laugh was infectious and her English sometimes went all fractured. But she never minded being corrected. She was an innocent and thought that helping out her brother, Nikos, would be fun.” Mark gripped Illya’s hands while he forced himself to remember the last horrible picture.

“She jumped up from her seat to go to the ladies room and took the bullet right in her back.” His voice became a whisper. “It was meant for me, you see. So her death was my fault. She fell onto the table, taking all the dishes with her. I tried to hold her out of the line of fire. I called her name . . . but she was already dead. My hands were covered in blood and I had to leave her there. I . . . had . . . to . . . leave . . . her . . . there.”

Each word was punctuated with a clenched fist against his leg. Illya’s hands held him like an anchor while his emotions surged back and forth. “She was wearing this white dress that fit her like a glove and she was proud of the rose I’d gotten her. She was so still there on the floor with our plates and food scattered around her. All that life and laughter stilled forever.”

“It was not your fault, Mark.”

“It was! I should have insisted that we use a professional go-between. I should have never taken her to dinner.” He was shaking now. “I should have been between her and the shooter.”

“Did you take the outside seat so you were between her and the street?”

That odd question got his attention. “Of course.”

“Then how is it your fault that the shooter chose to use the kitchen entrance to make his shot instead of a rooftop where there would have been nothing between him and you?” Illya’s logic tore away the remaining restraints and Mark found his eyes wet.

“That’s it, Mark. Grieve for Melena now. Remember her laughing up into your eyes. Remember her accent and the funny things she said. Remember her joy in living. Let that be your last memory of her.” 

Mark found himself cradled in strong arms, his head on a solid shoulder and a hand rubbing the back of his neck while he was rocked gently. He realized that the more he cried, the lighter he felt. Something in Russian was being crooned in his ear and he mentally translated it into the soothing ‘there, there, let it go’ of his childhood.

He was settled back against the chair and a Kleenex was wiped over his cheeks before being handed to him so he could blow his nose. Sad blue eyes met his in complete understanding. “In time it won’t feel so bad. I know that’s a cliché but it’s still true. It wasn’t your fault and you dealt with the situation the best way you knew how. Give it time and don’t lock your emotions inside. That’s what I did and it hurts much worse when you finally thaw out. Napoleon and I are both here should you ever need us.”

“Thanks.” Mark tried for a smile. “I think I needed that.”

“You also need to eat something.” Napoleon’s voice came from over Mark’s shoulder. “Once you get some of my stew inside of you, you’ll feel strong enough to tame lions.”

He chuckled as he was supposed to and watched the older man set a tray on the coffee table. The dark haired agent sent him a quick look that assessed him with lightning speed then nodded as if what he saw was what he expected. Smiling, he nodded his approval then went back into the kitchen. Illya sat back on his heels and swayed a moment.

“Here, hold onto me until the dizziness goes away.” Mark sat forward and tentatively held Illya’s shoulders.

“Thank you. It comes and goes but tends to be worse in the evening when my temperature goes up.” Illya sank on down onto the floor by the table, crossing his legs in an almost yoga posture. “I will be very glad when it goes away. It is most disorienting.”

“Time will take care of that. Time and rest, Illya.” Napoleon returned with another tray of something steamy. The three white pottery bowls of thick rich stew probably smelled delicious but Mark’s nose was so stopped up after his cry that he couldn’t smell a thing.

“There’s crackers to go with it. Simple but nourishing.” The senior agent said quietly, setting the tray on Mark’s lap before picking up two of the bowls and placing them on the table.

He settled on the floor across from Illya and they divided up the crackers before handing the rest over to Mark’s tray. The next few minutes were spent spooning up the savory soup and enjoying the taste. Illya smiled at his partner. “You are a very good cook, Napoleon. I’m glad we decided that we’d take turns cooking.”

“Thank you, Illya. I’m looking forward to that new recipe for pancakes that I read you last night.”

“You read recipes?” Mark looked up in amazement.

Napoleon looked affronted. “I’ll have you know that not just anyone can read a recipe and give it the proper dramatic pauses. Here’s one that I always liked.” He dropped his voice to a husky murmur. “Take one and ¼ cups sifted flour, add one tablespoon baking powder, one tablespoon sugar and just ½ teaspoon salt. Sift them together in a large bowl.” His voice raised while he placed his hand over his heart. “Then, take one egg, beaten to a froth, one cup milk and two tablespoons melted shortening. Combine them and add to the dry ingredients, stirring just,” he dropped his voice again to a whisper. “Just until moistened. It should be,” he hissed, “lumpy.”

By now, Mark was chuckling so hard he had to clutch the tray to keep it from overbalancing. Illya was also laughing at his partner’s affronted look.

“Add ½ cup drained, crushed pineapple to batter. Bake on an ungreased griddle. Will make six to eight cakes.” He finished dramatically with a flourishing hand gesture.

“Oh, Pasha, you just get better and better at that.” Illya said affectionately and Mark saw Napoleon’s triumphant twinkle at making his partner laugh.

For the first time since he’d held Melena’s body in his arms, he felt sorrow but no longer any guilt. He could grieve for the loss of her innocence but also realize that the world goes on and he would go on with it. He had good friends and a job that he mostly liked. One day, he’d be ready to hang up his spy hat and go on to something else but for now, he’d finish his soup, talk with his friends, take a hot shower and go to bed.

Tomorrow was a new day and maybe, Illya would make those pancakes for them.


End file.
